


Derailed

by midnightcas



Series: BAU: Bitching Alternate Universe [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison-centric, Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternative Universe - FBI, BAMF Allison, BAMF Lydia, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Canon-Typical Violence, Derek is Derek, Dysfunctional Family, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, FBI Agent Derek, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Genius Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Minor Injuries, POV Allison, POV Multiple, Protective Derek, Psychosis, Stubborn Stiles, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightcas/pseuds/midnightcas
Summary: Allison is caught in the cross fire when she and several other passengers are taken hostage on board a train.Rules are broken, protocol is definitely not followed and sometimes things fall between the cracks...yes, this is just another Criminal Minds AU with the Pack as the FBI's BAU.





	Derailed

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there.
> 
> First thing I'm going to say is 'whoops'. I intended to make it just a quick 3 to 4k write to procrastinate my final papers all due next week. But here we are at 9k, shit dialogue and no papers done. I really should have expected this, I know. So my latest obsession are Teen Wolf Cop/FBI AUs and there's not nearly enough of them so I'm trying my hand at writing some. I think I'm going to make this into a loose series, because I enjoyed watching the same CM episode over and over again for nearly 12 hours and writing my own adaptation to it. That may be in relation to struggling over my papers, but who's keeping score?
> 
> Anyways: I do not own this plot. It was not my idea. It was Jeff Davis'...literally all of it. So, there's that. Forewarning, I took some of the dialogue directly from the episode, but most of it is just my own rewording that I thought would fit the character I was writing at the time. For anyone who's seen the episode S1EP09, you'll notice a few things are altered, if you haven't please realize that there will be spoilers in the fic. I would assume you guys know all this, but why not mention it to avoid any legal fees? Also, please see any warning in the end notes.
> 
> Disclaimer: The BAU is not a 'real' thing. Behavior Analysis is very rarely used if EVER in cases like these. They MAYBE get a case every five years or so when someone who believes in behavior analysis calls them in, but again it's very rare if ever. This kind of analysis is usually done post exciting crime bust and used to predict future killers' patterns. It's nearly impossible to tell the race of your killer by how they kill (I did say nearly, not always). There is psychology included in kick ass crime fighting, but as my Professor said, the BAU mostly consists of about 30 old white dudes in a room. Why am I telling you this? So you don't end up like the poor soul in my Forensic Psych class who announced that she wanted to work the BAU and has been planning her course over the last four years of undergrad. My prof point blank told her the job didn't exist and I think her world stopped. We haven't seen her since (just kidding ab the not seeing her).
> 
> Ahem.
> 
> Rules are broken, protocol is definitely not followed, there are plot holes, too many OOC moments to tally and five cups of tea in this fic. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!

Allison sighed as she was jerked sideways by the movement of the car she was in. Maybe opting to take the train instead of renting a vehicle hadn’t been the smartest decision. She twisted her lips and let her eyes wander from the case file to the others around her. Despite the size of the car (heh, everything’s bigger in Texas), there were only about five or six people spread around it. She assumed the early train into Dallas from El Paso wasn’t the most popular. She massaged around her eyes, carefully avoiding smudging her makeup, knowing any sign of imperfection or weakness in the face of this monster she had been sent to interview wouldn’t bode well for results. She decided against a nap, she didn’t know the area and didn’t want to chance missing her stop.

This part of the job was still unfamiliar, the traveling. She had been whisked around to seven different states in the last three months alone. Her instagram had definitely livened up, now not being stuck in the same city indefinitely, but her workload had understandably tripled, if not quadrupled in size. She had also met Scott. Which was _definitely_ something, even if it technically wasn’t _anything_ yet.

The past three months had been a whirlwind of adaption. A new team, a new boss, a new job, a new focus. Everything was new. Until she found herself being hit in the temple by a grip and turned to see a gun pointed straight at her face. Yeah, this? This part wasn’t new.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cora Hale jogged up the steps towards McCall’s office. She didn’t even bother knocking as she swung the door open to reveal the man and his annoyingly clean desk, filling out paperwork.

“Cora,” he greeted, tone flat but not unfriendly.

“Where’s Argent? I need her to take a look at some files.”

“Texas.”  
  
She visibly rocked backwards, “Texas?”

“Devries decided he would cooperate this year for VICAP.”

“She went alone?”

Scott looked up, “Yes?”  
  
“You’re letting her do custodials by herself already? It’s only been a few months.”

He took in Cora for a moment before meeting her eyes. Because yes, maybe he had given Allison the benefit of the doubt, but he knew...they all did, that she had the qualifications to do so. Her background was in sex crimes and she had an abundance of child cases under her belt. Devries’ victims had all been children. The only other candidate he had considered that had more child cases under their belt had been Lahey. But he’d gone with Allison to allow her to prove herself to the team. Point in case, right now. Sure they all respected her, but the speculation of nepotism (See: Chris Argent) wasn’t a secret throughout the entire burrow. And while they treated her as an equal, they still had yet to trust her while their backs were turned. Even Lydia, who took to Allison like a fly to honey requested it was Erica that conducted backup for their raid on Daehler’s home on Jones Lane last week instead of Allison. And dammit, Scott was running a team here. Lack of trust like this was only going to hurt them later down the road and he wasn’t going to take that chance. Allison wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon so they’d just have to get over their hesitance. And he knew, he did, that trust was hard to solicit, especially with the Hales, and Erica, who had been part of Kate Argent’s team. He knew it and was trying his hardest to understand that, but Allison was nothing like her aunt. And Scott was trying everything in his power to prove that to them. His eyes stayed steadily on Cora.

“She’ll be fine.”

 

 

Not an hour later was he being called into a debriefing room for a hostage situation on a train down in Midland, Texas. He wandered in, already reading through the file in his hand. Derek and Stiles stood towards the back of the room, leaning on the table behind them, while the others, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Lydia, Kira and Jackson crowded the screen.

“Why did they call us in?” Cora was asking as he joined them.

“There’s a psycho,” Jackson said.

Lydia threw him a dirty look and shoved him away.

“The man is Dr. Bryar. He used to be a famous academic who wrote a ton of papers on M and String Theory. We had Danny pull up his records and he after his mental break in ‘09 he’s been seeing a psychiatrist,” she pointed to the screen, “Linda Deaton, no relationship to _our_ Deaton. He’s started psychotic medication two years ago but there’s been no file update or status change since then.”  
  
“So he _is_ psychotic.”

Ignoring Jackson, Isaac spoke up, “Is this a psychotic break? If there’s been no status change than most likely he’s relatively safe.”

Boyd snorted next to him, “I wouldn’t say that.”  
  
“So we have a psychotic who’s either off medication or having a break with hostages,” Stiles summarized.

“And guns,” Derek reminded with a clenched jaw and a frown as he took in Stiles’ profile.

“We have a death already?”  
  
“Yeah, the security guard,” Jackson leaned forward to point at the screen, “We think it’s what kicked whatever’s going on, off.”

Scott nodded and turned to his team about to give the order to pack their bags and meet back here within the hour when Erica stood ramrod straight.  
  
“What?” Boyd asked, noticing the change in his partner right away.  
  
“Run it back,” she barked at Lydia who complied without question, “Stop.”

The entire team squinted at the screen, trying to see what she did.  
  
“Allison,” Stiles announced and Erica nodded, “Third seat back from the front,” she confirmed, “That’s Argent.”

 

 

Two hours later and they were on the plane to Texas. The team was spread out, each reading over Bryar’s case file, trying to pick up new clues and reaffirm what they already knew. If nothing else, they’d have the guy’s profile down pat when they got there.

“Can you get me information on the hostages?”

On the other side of the line Danny snorted, “Who do you think I am? Of course I can.”  
  
“Good. We need to know the basics and anything that could potentially get in the way of our negotiations.”

“You got is boss.”  
  
“Danny,” Derek sighed, “Argent is one of them.” 

Suddenly, all playfulness drained from his tone, Derek could see the lines on his face hardening without the visual. Danny didn’t know Allison, just that she was an agent and part of the team. That would be enough for him, “I’m with it,” his voice crackled over the line before he hung up.

“Do we have anything from the locals yet?” Lydia asked as she moved a piece on the chess board that sat between her and Stiles.

“No. we’ll meet them when we land. They know we’re coming,” Kira promised.

Derek nodded and sat back in his seat. He needed to clear his mind and emotions and get ready for what he was sure would be one hell of an afternoon. He lazily watched Stiles do a celebratory dance as he captured Lydia’s rook and felt a small smile tug at his face before he drifted off.

 

 

When they landed it was to a hot sun and drying heat. Derek immediately ditched his jacket in the car and rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t miss Stiles’ lingering eyes on his forearms, in which he returned with a knowing smirk. He laughed when all the Agent did was scowl and turn away. They filed into the building that had been near enough to the scene to be used as a base of sorts. It was a small veterinarian’s office that had many small rooms that had been transformed with maps and folders and paperwork. Computers had been set up on the metal exam tables and agents were spread out everywhere. But at least it had air conditioning.

Introductions were made and responsibilities were hashed out. Moretti was the IC. He didn’t seem to have any visible hatred for them, which was a beautiful start if you asked any of them.

“Has he demanded anything? Any requests? Any deals?”  
  
Moretti shook his head, “No. Nothing like that. The only thing he asked for was to talk to the higher authority. I tried convincing him I _was_ the highest authority, but he didn’t bite.”

Kira nodded. The man was big with a beard, the slight twang of an accent rounded his voice making him seem gentle and easy, but everything else from his eyes to his posture told otherwise. It wasn’t hard to figure out why he was in charge.

“Do we know who this higher authority is? Or what he’s talking about?” Asked someone who Kira assumed as one of Moretti’s men.

Before Kira could speak, Stiles chimed in, “A lot of what we see with this type of psychotic is that they believe they’re being sent messages by some form of higher power. It could be like, uh, for example, John Nash. He believed he was being contacted by aliens to save the world. It could be the government to God. Anything that the subject believes has control over them.”  
  
“John Nash,” Moretti nodded, “Beautiful Mind. I’ve seen the movie.”

A smile tugged at Stiles’ mouth, “Yeah, it was pretty good. Even with it’s inaccuracies it did win an Academy. It was--

“Stiles,” Derek gruffed from beside him, “not the time.”

Stiles bristled a bit, but shot Moretti a megawatt smile, “Sorry,” he beamed before following Derek off towards Jackson and Lydia to see if they’d gotten anything different. Scott and Erica remained with Kria as Moretti stared after the two until the man from beside Moretti spoke again.

“So? What now? He’ll only speak to this “Higher Authority”. We don’t even know what that means.”

“Well,” Erica snorted, “we better give it to him.”

 

 

They filled two cars and headed down the dirt road towards the scene. It was from Derek’s command that they pulled up with their sirens on and waited an entire thirty seconds until exiting the SUV’s. The higher authority, he reasoned, would act flippant in this sort of situation. And they had all agreed.

“Don’t look at the train,” Scott called as they all piled out.

Cars with men surrounded the train car. He counted at least twenty heavy guns, just on the walk towards the tent. Once they got the details, half of his Agents would head back towards the base and do what they could there.

“I’ll talk to the Hostage Resource Team Commander. See if he has anything,” Jackson offered, scurrying off towards the men with the guns.

When he approached them he placed a hand on the Commander’s right shoulder, signaling his presence and squatted down next to him.

“Whittemore. FBI. Status?”  
  
“In position. We have all angles covered. Your Agent’s still okay as far as we can tell. No more deaths or gunshots. Though he does seem to be waving the thing around quite frequently. Safety’s off. He’s resting on the trigger.”  
  
Jackson nodded, they had expected as much.

“We’re trying to negotiate with him. We’ve labeled him as psychotic and there’s a chance we’ll be able to talk him down without anymore fire. But if he picks an endgame then it’s over. We take the shot and rush.”

“We’ll be ready. We have position change every hour. If you think it’s getting to that point let me know and I’ll keep my men.”

Jackson nodded his agreement and stepped away. He’d stay on sight with Cora, Erica, Isaac and Boyd while the others would head back and stay monitoring the scene from the base.

“We’re heading out,” Lydia announced. She reached out and squeezed Jackson’s hand as she spoke, “Kira will be the liaison between us. Anything we know you’ll know in less than a minute, so keep your phones on and be ready to take action in a second’s notice. We’re going to go through everything once we sit down, build a more stable profile from what we know now and get back to you ASAP.”

The others nodded and Jackson gave her hand a tight squeeze back before letting go and turning back to the situation.

“Let’s get a monitor so we can get eyes on the inside. I want to see everything.”

 

 

Nothing major in the profile had changed. So they spent their time filing in everyone else on base. Moretti and the man from earlier, Dan, had joined them, and they were currently surrounding the computer screen that had almost a complete visual of the scene.

“So we know he thinks...something is going on,” Stiles said, “that’s pretty clear.”  
  
“How?” Dan asked.

The guy was a skeptic, that much was clear. But Derek didn’t blame him. There were days when Derek, himself, was one, too.

“He wants to speak to the higher authority. He’s trapped in some kind of idealistic... _event_ in his head. His reality is different than ours.”  
  
“How can we be sure.”

“Well, would you demand to speak with a higher authority?”

At that Dan twisted his mouth in thought and sat back, as to admit submission.

“We just don’t know what that event it. It’s um, a fantasy of some kind. The higher authority is a part of that fantasy.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Moretti pushed.

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, “We play into it as much as possible.”

“Doesn’t that fall into the “we don’t negotiate with terrorists” line?” Dan scoffed.

Derek kind of wanted to hit him.

“It’s more so that he stays believing that fantasy. Dragging him out and trying to convince him that it’s not real, clearly hasn’t worked and will only put him more on edge and make him more dangerous. If we keep him in that fantasy then we stay the higher authority that he needs. We stay vital, he says safe. In the hostage situation, that’s nearly a perfect formula for success. If we give anything way, it’s over.”

Lydia nodded, “We’ll do the talking. You said you tried to contact him before?”

Moretti nodded.  
  
“Good. That makes our situation even more favorable.”

She sat by the phone, crossing her heels and fixing her hair.

“What are you doing?” Dan nearly hissed, seeing that she had no intention of picking up the phone.

Her green eyes darkened at the challenge, “If we’re the highest authority, we don’t go to him. He comes to us.”

“Speaking of,” Derek mused, nodding to the screen, “Here he comes.”

 

* * *

 

It had happened fast. The train had halted to a stop, her coffee spilling a bit over the edge onto the empty tray table she had pulled out beside her. She took inventory around her before continuing to mop up the spill with the tissues from her purse. As she did so, she took mental check of everything, subconsciously feeling the gun in her holster, her cell phone in her pocket and the dagger in the sheath around her ankle. She tensed as she heard the heavy door slide open, but relaxed when she saw the uniformed security guard walking down the aisle.

“Relax folks. Nothing to worry about. We’ll be up and moving again shortly. Everything’s fine.”  
  
“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing to worry about,” the man said again dismissively.

He paused a moment beside her, taking in the label on the file, “You on the job?”

“FBI,” she reiterated, “anything I can do?”

He shook his head and leaned in to whisper, “No. There was a suicide. Jumped on the tracks. We just have to wait for officials. Then we’ll be moving.”

Allison nodded and allowed her gaze fall out the window as the man continued on down the aisle, reassuring everyone that things were fine. She jumped up at the sound of gunfire, reaching for her gun. She hadn’t expected the hit across the temple that made her sight go black and her tongue go numb. As scrambled to her feet as quickly as possible, but he had already taken her gun and had it pointed at her.

“Okay,” she breathed, ignoring the stinging pain, as she rose her hands in surrender, “okay. You have the gun. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”

A woman stood, “What are you doing?” she cried.

“Shut up!” he yelled, pointing both the guns, from Allison and the guard at her, “Shut _up_!”

After a moment, the man spun around wildly, taking in the scene around him. Allison took the time to do so as well. Everyone was in different states of shock, but no one seemed to be injured in anyway. And no one, except her and maybe the woman who was still standing, looked to be of any major interest to the guy. So what the fuck was actually going on? He moved and dug around the dead security guard and took hold of his handcuffs. He made his way back towards Allison and cuffed her to the arm of her seat. That seemed to relax him...well _relatively_ relax him as he forced the rest of the passengers into the seats around her and headed towards the back of the train, furthest away from the others, giving him full sight of everything that went on.

Everything was quiet. Allison didn’t know how much time had passed since now ‘til then. Her head was pounding and her wound was slowly leaking. At this point she’d probably need stitches. She outruled a concussion though, the hit had been solid but not hard enough to have done any lasting damage. The man was steady for now. Every few minutes he’d start muttering under his breath and move around, but he seemed to be able to get himself to settle sooner or later. She stiffened when she heard the sirens. If another team had been called, it was most likely someone from the FBI and if they had identified that she was on board, it was probably her own. He scrambled to the window, gun still in hand and peaked out. She almost expected one of the  guns surrounding the car to take the shot.

“Teddy,” the same woman spoke, “you have to listen to me, alright? Everything--”  
  
“No!” he turned and Allison might shoot her at the end of all this if ‘Teddy’ didn’t, “You have to listen to _me_.”

“Your hubby’s fucking nuts, dude,” the man...no the _kid_ spoke from her left.

“He’s not my husband. He’s my patient.”

“You’re his psychologist, right?”

“Psychiatrist,” she corrected. Allison refrained from rolling her eyes, “I was taking him to Dallas as an anecdote for psychosis treatment.”

“He’s had treatment?” The same kid asked, “Doesn’t seem to be working.”

“What do we do to calm him?” Allison cut the conversation off.

“He’s never had a violent break before. But...give him space. Don’t make him feel threatened.”

“He’s the one with the gun. He’s threatening us,” the other man spoke.

Allison shot him a dirty look, “He’s psychotic. He’s in a different reality. For all we know, we are the threats. So keep that in mind before anyone does anything stupid.”

The other man, she would later learn to be Anderson, opened his mouth to retort when a retching sound caught both of their attention.

“Are you okay?” Allison asked.

The girl didn’t answer, only shaking her head back and forth and sniffling. She couldn’t tell if the shaking of her shoulders was from the girl dry heaving or sobbing.

“Hey,” Allison asked again, tone sharpening to get her attention, “Are you okay?”  
  
The girl looked up and nodded, but she still looked pale in the face. And the last thing she needed was a medical emergency.

“What’s your name?”  
  
“E-elaine.”

“Elaine. Mine’s Allison. What is it?”

“My stomach,” she admitted, before shooting a fixed look at Teddy pacing the aisle.

“Alright. Is that it?”

She nodded again, “Sorry.”  
  
“Nothing to be sorry about. Just, stay put. We don’t know how he’ll react if any of us move.”  
  
She nodded and wiped her mouth.

“Teddy,” the psychiatrist, Linda stood, “This girl is sick. We have to do something.”  
  
“Shut up!” He whipped around, pointing the gun straight at her, “Sit down and _shut up_.”

She complied. Allison had half a mind to discourage her attempts, but she supposedly knew him the best out of the rest of them. If she had the magic phrase or words to calm, the more power to her. She just hoped it wouldn’t get them all shot, first.

“What are you doing?” the kid hissed, drawing Linda and Allison’s eyes to Anderson who was slowly opening his briefcase.

“Don’t be stupid,” Allison snarled, tugging against her the handcuffs around her wrist.

When a Bible was the only thing produced, she visibly relaxed.

“What are you gonna do, throw it at him?”

“What’s your name?” Allison asked the kid.

“Josh.”  
  
“Josh?” He nodded, “Stop talking.”

He shot her a dirty look and took a drink from his bottle.

Anderson wrinkled his nose, “Is that alcohol?”

“Look,” he said, “if I’m going down, it ain’t gonna be sober.”

“Come on!” Teddy cried.

Elaine yelped from behind her and Josh cursed at the slash out of the booze. But everyone was quiet again and the tension was nearly crushing.

“It ends today, it ends today, it ends today,” Allison heard him muttering, like a mantra, under his breath, word after word.

Her training suggested she label him as psychotic, but she felt like there was definitely something underlying it. Something a little bit more. Screw the DSMR. things were abstract, always. It had been that kind of mindset that had gotten her the job and she expected that it was the same mindset that would let her keep it. It was only seconds later that he was grabbing Elaine by the hair and up and out of her seat.

“Take me!” Allison cried, “take me instead. Please. Take _me_.”

“And let you send them messages? I don’t think so,” he growled as he tugged at the woman’s short hair a little harder.  
Over the wails of Elaine and the cries of the others, Linda tried to reason with him.

“You’re not in any danger, Ted. Please. You have to believe me. Stop this, you’re fine.”

Even Allison was having a hard time keeping her head at the moment amongst the chaos, she couldn’t imagine the strife Ted was feeling. She almost didn’t blame him when he turned the gun at Linda and demanded her to shut the fuck up. Once Linda had receded, he continues to drag Elaine down the aisle and throw her in front of the phone. All Allison could do now was sit and watch.

“Call them.”  
  
“W-who?” Elaine sobbed in the phone.

Teddy’s answer was a gun to the head, “Call _them_.”

“Just pick up the phone,” Allison urged, she nodded and reached for it, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t,” Ted snarled, “say anything I don’t tell you to. Do you understand.”  
  
She nodded, but it wasn’t enough.  
  
“Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes,” she had tears down her eyes and her voice was thin. Allison could see her tremors from where she sat. Elaine picked up the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

They grouped around the monitor, watching as Bryar dragged the woman down the aisle towards the phone. Lydia readied herself for the call and the others gave her the space. She let it ring twice before answering and putting it on speaker phone.

“Yes?”

And if Stiles hadn’t known her, hadn’t known her play, than he would have believed she had just been interrupted during something way more important than whatever this call could have been for.

The girl’s sob ridden voice cackled over the line. Stiles squirmed at the desperation in it.

“He wants to know who just arrived.”

Lydia seemed to turn this question over in her head for a moment before answering, “Tell him it’s someone who can help him.”

They listened as she repeated the answer.

“What--what part of the government do you work for?”

“I never said I was part of the government.”

Dan suddenly shot up in his chair, and this time Derek didn’t hesitate before shoving back down and motioning him to shut up. He returned next to Stiles a moment later, but it was obvious that he was keeping an eye on the guy for future interventions.

“What part of the government?” she cried again.

They could hear Dr. Bryar’s voice, but it was indistinguishable. In the monitor, they watched as Bryar’s gaze landed on Allison. The room tensed.

Eventually the woman’s voice came over the line again, “He wants to know if you’re FBI.”  
  
Lydia’s eyes retracted to the screen, but her voice stayed steady, “Tell him he can ask me for himself.”

In a fit of frustration, he slammed his hand against the back of the seat before wrenching the phone out of the woman’s hand.

“Who are you,” he snarled, “Tell me the truth or this Agent dies.”

Ignoring the dirty look from Dan and the mortified one from Moretti, Lydia answered, ever placidly, “You know who I am.”

“f you’re the higher authority, you can have it removed,” at those words Bryar looked to have relaxed a bit on the screen. But they didn’t have the best picture right now and for all they know it could have been a trick of the light, “I want it removed now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Scott coming forward at her brief hesitation, about to pull the plug, but she shoved him away, regaining her wits.

“You know it can’t be done that quickly.”

Derek shot Stiles a look of confusion when he saw realization pull over Stiles’ clouded face.

“Goodbye,” Lydia said promptly, clicking the phone off.

“What the hell?” Dan cried, standing.

Derek looked torn between slamming him back down into his chair again or questioning his teammate himself. Lydia only held up one perfectly manicured finger before the phone was ringing again.

“Can I help you?” She answered.

“Okay,” came Bryar’s voice.

“Okay, what?”

“You have an hour to take it out. Or I’ll kill all your Agents.”  
  
“Fine.”

The phone disconnected again.

“Remove what?” Scott asked, turning back towards the screen as the woman scrambled back towards her seat and Bryar began pacing again.

“I don’t know,” Lydia frowned.  
  
“What?” Derek cried.

“I don’t _know_ ,” she snapped, “But I bought us an hour to figure it out.”

Dan stood from his chair and the whole room moved like he was about to physically fight. He only turned on his heel, though, muttering about the fricken FBI and their mind games and he walked out the door. Stiles was about to comment when he felt his phone vibrate. Kira was already on the line with Jackson, giving him the update, so it couldn’t have been anyone on the ground. He flipped it over.

“Danny Boy,” he answered and wandered into a free room that already had a computer set up in it for them. Derek faithfully followed.

“I have your names, Stilinski.”

“Beautiful. Send them to the IP 68.4.39.37? Cool, what’ve you got?”

He handed the phone to Derek, who placed it on speaker and watched from behind. Stiles pulled up the live feed of inside the train as numerous small windows popped up on the rest of the screen. Danny shared the screen and then he and Derek were seeing what he was.

“The kid? His name is Josh Patel. He’s twenty three. Comes from a rich family, he was in rehab...twice. But never made it past week one. He was an undergrad student at Gillett University but was just expelled for drunk driving and...taking out the entire west wing of the library.”

“He’s probably drinking right now, if that’s what’s in the bottle,” Derek observed, leaning over Stiles to point at the still of the video in the left corner of the screen.  
  
“Wonderful. Star kid right there,” Stiles said.

Danny snorted in agreement and then continued, “Okay, the dude with the suit? Right corner?”  
  
“Gottem.”

“Harry Andersen. He’s 43, a salesman. He’s from a small town right outside Dallas. Nothing on him really. He’s been married for 18 years, no kids, one car, his credit card statement never really puts him outside a 25 mile radius of his house and he liked his coffee from Dunn Bros.”

“Useful.”

“The girl who you guys talked to? Name’s Elaine Curtis. Absolutely nothing on her. She’s 26 Small town, small life. No credit card, no passport, no tickets. No jobs listed. Nothing.”

“Is she weird about the government or?”  
  
“Not that I can tell.”

“Okay, the other is the psychiatrist then.”

“You got it. Linda Deaton. She’s scheduled to speak at a conference in Dallas tonight.”

“Looks like she’ll be a little late,” Stiles mused as he minimized the rest of the windows and blowing up the in train camera, “Thanks Dan Bro.”  
  
“Wait,” Danny’s voice came over the line as Derek handed the phone back over to Stiles.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I have delayed footage. Allison’s still okay, right?”

“She’s fine. Here,” Stiles typed in a bunch of code in a small box at the bottom of the screen, “I just sent you the link. It’s in time.”  
  
“Thanks.”

“Nice work,” Stiles answered before hanging up.

At the look of disappointment on Stiles’ face, Derek stilled.

“What is it?”

“Nothing in here’s going to help us much, Derek.”

Derek shrugged and put a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “Let’s just hope none of them make it any worse.”

They made their way out to the others, filling them in on the new information.

“Why are we wasting our time looking into the hostages? That’s not going to help us at all. We need to figure out how to get them out, not what they do in their free time,” Dan snarled.

Visibly taken aback by the verbal assault, Derek took a step in front of Stiles, ready to tear into the guy like he’s been wanting to, but unsurprisingly Scott rose a hand to halt him. Normally it was Derek who was the stoically level headed one, but assholes like this Dan guy tended to get to him, the ones that questioned his every move, his _team’s_ every move. There had been a reason they were the ones called and if these idiots couldn’t see that then they weren’t smart enough to be in law enforcement. And everyone knew how he got when it came to Stiles.

“The more we know about every aspect of the situation, the better off we are. We now know their names, their flaws, their general state of mind. What would have happened if we went in there and one of them was an on the run felon or there was someone in there who was blind or deaf? Now we know that there’s no one in any similar category and we can safely continue to conduct the case as planned. Here in the FBI, we don’t cut corners. That’s why we get results.”

 

* * *

 

“Why aren’t they helping us?” Andersen asked as they all watched on as Teddy paced.

“We’re going to be fine.”  
  
“You’re the government agent, here,” Josh snapped, “this is your fault!”

The smell of booze on his breath was strong now and Allison just wished she could reach over and slam against the wall for being a moron.

“He probably thinks we’re all agents,” Linda interjected.

“Fuck that,” Josh stood, “Hey. I’m with you, alright? Screw the government. Big Brother right? Fuck em!”

“No,” Ted growled, barreling towards the kid.

Allison struggled against the cuffs, but Linda stepped in front of him before she could.

“No, Teddy. No!” Surprisingly he stopped, “this is what they want. To distract you,” she made eye contact with Allison who had picked up on her plan and shot her gaze over to where the camera was. Linda carefully twisted his arm into the angle of the camera, revealing a number of scars up and down his arm, “Almost. You’re almost there.”

It was several long minutes until everything settled down.

“We need a plan,” Allison whispered to the others.  
  
“I’ll try to talk to him.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s wise?”

Linda threw her a _look_ , but stood and took a few hesitant steps towards Teddy.

“Ted? Are you feeling a little better now?” He laughed. Allison didn’t blame him. “Look, no one here’s trying to hurt you. The FBI Agent just happened to be on the train today. She was going to the conference,” it was a lie but Allison went with it, “Let them go. I’ll stay here with you. We don’t want to hurt any other people, do we? Let them go.”

In a second, Ted shot to his feet, gun pointed at Linda, running towards her.

“Stop!” Allison cried, “Stop. If you shoot her, I will make sure that they never take it out of you. They’ll keep it in there forever.”

 

* * *

 

“So now that we know where it is how do we get ‘it’ out?” Moretti asked.

“It’s probably a microchip. It’s about as common of a delusion as being a prophet.”  
  
“That’s common?” Moretti snorted.

“Well,” Stiles started, but Dan cut him off, “How do we remove something that’s not even there in the first place?”

Stiles started to pace, “There’s no signs of physical shut down or diminishing mental process, which means he can keep his thoughts organized.”

“We can’t try to convince him he’s been looking in the wrong spot?”

Lydia shook her head, “Look at those marks. He’s had this in his mind forever. Trying to tell him he’s wrong is dangerous. He could go even further into his break and hurt someone.”  
  
“But if it’s in his arm then he’ll be watching us.”  
  
Stiles slumped down in his chair, flipping his pen around his fingers before he jumped up.

“We can fake it.”

“What?”

“Conceal it in the palm. Like how people do the quarter behind the ear. A slight of hand.”

“Come on Stiles,” Derek huffed, “you’re talking about a kid’s magic trick.”  
  
“ _Yeah_ , I’m talking about a kid’s magic trick.”

“No,” Scott dismissed immediately and Derek could have kissed him.

Stiles’ mind tended to get away from him quite a bit. And he was stubborn as all hell, too. Scott had been his original partner (in crime) and always had a few tips and suggestions he’d trade with Derek on how to deter him. One of them included chocolate chip pancakes and sprinkles.

“Scott, come on. I used to do it all the time. You know that.”  
  
“We can’t risk giving him another hostage.”  
  
“We can’t risk doing nothing either,” Stiles snapped back.

On any other team an agent would have been sent on a walk for talking back to his superior, but this team...well it was a little different.

Derek sighed and stood, shoving his way into Stiles’ vision.  
  
“Alright, fine,” he said, crossing his arms and standing tall, “teach it to me.”

He furrowed his brows, “What?”

“If you can do it, I can do it. Show it to me.”

“I’ve been doing this for twenty years, we have less than 30 _minutes_.”

“Stiles, I’m not about to let you get on a train with an armed psychotic.”

He felt his heart beating and his stomach twist. Stiles met his eyes.

“We don’t have any other choice.”

“No,” Lydia shook her head, “we don’t have any other choice.”

Derek clenched his jaw and mentally tried to bore holes into Stiles’ head, but the younger man wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Come on,” Scott sighed, patting him on the shoulder, “let’s get you suited up.”

Sites followed him out without a word. And Derek faithfully followed.

 

 

Jackson met them when they pulled up, a microchip out of some kind of electronic.

“One government issued microchip,” he announced, handing over to Stiles.

Derek was stoic beside him. It wasn’t hard to see that he was against the idea all together. But it also wasn’t hard to see that they were getting into dangerous territory and needed to act fast. He didn’t blame Derek, but he needed to make sure he wasn’t going to slip up either, just because it was Stilinski on the other side. They headed back towards the tent. Derek strapped Stiles into the bulletproof vest, making sure everything was done up and secure.

“Listen,” he rested a hand on Stiles’ chest, “whatever you do, do not take this vest off.”

Jackson and Scott watched on. It wasn’t hard to see what Derek and Stiles were to each other, but he just hoped the others were too preoccupied to notice. Interoffice relationships weren’t commended, and their team had a nasty habit of breaking that rule. But it was what had made them the best. He thought of Lydia in the moment, all fierce and whip smart. He admired her as a person, thought of her as an equal. She never saw him a less than. While he wasn’t mentally anywhere near her intelligence standards like Stilinski was, they were on a level playing field when it came to emotions. And that’s what made them perfect for each other.

After watching Stiles drop the chip in the dirt for the fourth straight time in a row and Derek get physically aggravated as a result, Scott took a few more steps towards them, “I’m pulling the plug on this.”

“No, wait. I got it. One more time, watch.”

They watched as the microchip twirled around his fingers out of sight and then reappeared seemingly out of thin air. He shot a smile at Scott who only fixed him with a flat glare. Jackson’s expression matched.

“Take the chip out and get off the train, understand?” Jackson ordered.

“Tell him you need to get back to the higher authorities. You have directions to follow, protocol is very important,” Scott followed up.

“Do not stay in there with him, Stiles. That’s an order,” Jackson grunted.

“Yes Sir,” Stiles quipped back, “Also, could at least one of you look like you’re going to see me again?”

Jackson’s eyes shot to Derek’s but neither of them responded.

“See you when you get back,” Scott responded, nothing wavering in his face.

Stiles threw them a now nervous smile and began towards the train.

Derek gently back into the empty tent. Everyone was outside, readying for their next step. He sighed and positioned himself in front of Stiles, his green eyes settling into whiskey.

“Remember, don’t make eye contact with Allison. You’ve never seen her before. You don’t know anything that’s going on, you’re just a technician that’s been sent in to take a microchip out of Theodor Bryar’s arm,” Derek instructed. It was everything Stiles already knew, but he was willing to sit through it if it meant making Derek feel a little better, “Play into the guy’s fantasy. Believe it yourself.”

“Actually, did you know that surgeons and dentists have been recruited by certain agencies to implant microchips during operations? This has been happening on and off since the late 1930’s.”

Derek shot him a look of despair and sharp annoyance, but Stiles only smiled, “You told me to believe.”

He shook his head fondly, eyes flitted around to reassure their privacy before leaning in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. The other man brought a hand to the nape of Derek’s neck.

“I’ll be alright. You strapped me into this thing nice and snug. Ain’t no bullet getting through.”  
  
“I’d actually prefer it if you avoided getting shot altogether.”

Stiles laughed, “Me too, Big Guy.”

He kissed the apple of Derek’s cheek, “I’ll see you in a few minutes. We’ll have dinner back in Quantico tonight. I’m feeling S&Gs. What do you think?

“As long as you don’t get their steak and eggs. I don’t get my paycheck for another week.”  
Stiles laughed against Derek’s neck.

“Fine. Pancakes it is,” they shared another quick kiss before Stiles pulled away with a fond expression on his face and walked out the tent towards the gun.

 

* * *

 

Everything had been relatively quiet inside the train car for a while now, apart from Teddy’s whispered rants and Elaine’s random wrenching sobs. But then Teddy suddenly froze and threw himself towards Elaine holding her in front of himself like a shield. She didn’t understand why until the heavy door at the front of the car slid open. To her surprise, Stiles walked in. She averted her gaze, feigning ignorance.

“That’s far enough,” Ted cried.

Stiles’ hands remained up in a defensive posture, but he stopped moving.

“I’m here to remove a chip from Dr. Theodore Bryar.”

Teddy motioned toward Stiles with the gun, “Take the vest off. I want to see you.”

“I--I can’t. I’m not allowed.”  
  
The gun cocked towards Elaine’s stomach.

“Take it off!”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Stiles said, calmly as he ripped away the velcro, panel by panel. Allison felt herself wincing for everyone that was removed.

“Sit there,” Teddy demanded, pointing to the seat across from where he stood, “I want to see your hands at all times. Don’t try anything or I’ll kill this Agent. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Sit.”  
  
Allison watched on, anxiety clawing in her chest. What was the plan here? How was he supposed to pull a goddamned microchip out of thin air? Teddy held out his arm, and Stiles held it in his, wiping it down with a disinfectant wipe thoroughly. Dammit Stiles. What was your plan?

“Why are you nervous?” Teddy cried suddenly, making Stiles flinch back.

“I...I’m not used to being around guns. I’m just a technician. They don’t...authorize guns to technicians.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, the harsh tone of his voice receded as he demanded, “Hurry.”

“This might sting,” Stiles forewarned, taking a scalpel and slicing a vertical line down Teddy’s arm.

The man winced, but remained still. Blood poured from the cut, some of it dripping onto the carpet beneath them. But, Allison was sure that a stain was the least of the train company’s worries at the moment. She looked away as Stiles seemed to dig around in the wound before sliding out...you had to be fucking kidding me, she thought bewilderedly, a microchip. Government issues, she assumed no less. What the hell was going on?

“Did you see that?” Josh’s eyes widened next to her, “There was actually a chip in his arm!”

“I knew it!” Teddy cried, “I _knew_ it. You all told me I was _wrong_! I knew it!”

Stiles stood, “I need to go.”  
  
“Not yet!”

“The higher authorities told me I needed to leave as soon as possible. I have protocol I need to follow.”

“No,” Teddy cried, swinging the gun in Stiles’ direction. Allison felt her chest constrict, “Sit down. _Sit_ down.”

Stiles complied slowly, the gun still trained on him.

“Turn it on,” came the next demand.  
  
Stiles was visibly thrown by the question, “What?”  
  
“Turn it on.”

“He can’t,” Allison jumped in at Stiles’ brief hesitation.

“Why not?!”

“She’s right. I can’t. It has to be implanted. It’s a chip, it need a power source. Which is the electrical impulses between neurons. It has to be implanted to work.”

“Is that true?” He stood, looking at the others.

“Yes,” Linda nodded, “it’s true. It makes sense doesn’t it?”

“I really have to go,” Stiles stood again.

This time the grip of the gun was dug into his shoulder, “Sit’own. You’re not going anywhere.”

A few moments later the phone rang. No one moved.

“It’s probably the higher authorities,” Stiles prompted. When Teddy gave him a disbelieving look he continued, “I told you, I have protocols to follow. I was supposed to get right back to them. If you want me to stay, I will. But you’re going to have to explain it to them.”

“Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” Came the man’s delayed response.

“Leave you alone?” Josh stood.

“Stay out of this,” Allison warned.

“No. The government does watch us. We have satellite, GPS, security cameras.”

“Do not agitate him” Stiles hissed.

“Fuck you,” Josh spat back.

“Dr. Bryar, answer the phone,” Stiles urged, Allison knew, too, that  it was the only way to diffuse the building situation.

Josh didn’t stop ranting. About televisions and microwaves and tracking devices and Big Brother. The tension in the room was growing, Teddy was getting more and more wound up every passing second.

“Sit down,” Allison yelled at Josh.

“What? You’re gonna tell me what to do? He’d only have one gun if it weren’t for you!”

“This isn’t helping,” Linda stood up, trying to push John back into his seat, “Don’t listen to him Ted. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”  
  
“I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’m with you man. Screw the government.”  
  
“Answer the phone,” Stiles tried again, “Dr. Bryar, answer the phone.”

“Stop!” He cried as he stood, pointing the gun towards the commotion at the back of the car between Linda and Josh.

Before anyone could make a move, he squeezed the trigger. Linda let out a cry and fell backwards into Josh, both of them falling to the floor. Almost as an afterthought, in a daze, Teddy swayed towards the phone, answering it.

Stiles dashed over to where Linda had fallen, using his tie as a means to stop the bleeding.

“Are you alright?” At her affirmation he spoke again, “Scott and the others are outside. They have the shot. I was supposed to leave as soon as I got it out so I don’t know what their next move it, but they’re trying their damn hardest not to storm the place.”

She nodded. Stiles threw a look over his shoulder, Allison followed.

“Lydia’s handling negotiations. We’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What happened Ted?” Lydia asked, “We gave you what you wanted.”

“It all ends today.”

Lydia let out a put upon sigh, “What?”  
  
“It all ends _today!”_

Bryar slammed down the phone and turned back to his audience.

“What does that mean?” Dan asked.

“It means he has an endgame,” Moretti assumed.

Scott nodded, “He’s going to kill himself and everyone on that train.”

He wandered away, back into the too bright sunlight of the Texas day. Derek noticeably wouldn’t meet anybody’s eyes. Worry swarmed around in his head. No, no, no. He was going to be alright. Stiles was going to be alright. They would get dinner at S&Gs and Stiles would order the steak and eggs just because Derek had told him not to. And they would go back to Stiles’ apartment because it was closer and they’d bask in the fall temperatures of Virginia and make fun of Dan. It would be fine. Everything would be fine. He hadn’t realized how deep in his headspace he was until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Boyd, looking at him carefully.

“You alright?”  
  
“I will be.”  
  
The other man nodded, “Alright. Come on. I think Lydia’s about to call again.”

They headed back towards the tend, Boyd the exact quiet meaningful presence by his side that he needed. To their surprise, on the third ring in Bryar stood and shot the phone twice before retreating back.

“Tell me when HRT are ready,” Lydia said to Moretti, tight lipped.

“Lydia, you send people in there and hostages are going to die,” Scott argued.

She answered straight as a gun, “If we don’t do it now, hostages are going to die anyway.”  
Derek felt the bottom drop out from beneath him before he followed Lydia and Boyd back outside.

“Jackson,” Derek snapped, “Do you have a monitor out here?”  
  
“Yeah,” he pointed his chin, “Over by the squad car. Everything alright?”

“Bryar shot the phone. Lydia’s sending HRT in.”

“But--”  
  
“I know,” Derek grumbled, making his way over to the laptop that sat on top of the car’s roof. He soon felt Scott and Lydia join the three of them, watching carefully as the events unfolded in front of them.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s not gone,” Teddy mumbled. I can still hear it.”

Allison watched as Stiles turned towards him. She recognized it as his ‘figuring things out’ posture and hoped she was right.

“You said when they took it out it would go away. But I still hear it, Leo. The buzzing. The burning. I want it to stop,” he sobbed.

“Dr. Bryar,” Stiles cut in.

“What?” He snapped, gun immediately taking aim at the voice.

“Stiles,” Allison hissed in warning.

“Is there another one?” Teddy stood, advancing. She allowed her gaze fall out the window. She could now see most of her team standing around a computer, eyes flitting from between it and the train car. Boyd had a grip on Derek’s shoulder, grounding him, while Scott and Lydia were exchanging heated words and gestures. To Allison’s surprise, Stiles scoffed.

“You know there isn’t. Leo would have told you.”  
  
What?

“Make it stop!” He cocked the gun.

“I know what it’s life. The voices? They’ve been there since you were a kid. They explained things. Things no one else understood, right?”  
  
“You’re lying to me!”

Stiles smiled, “That’s Leo speaking. You know it’s true,” his eyes flicked over to behind Teddy’s shoulder, “Why don’t you let him think for himself, Leo?”

Ted’s gaze followed Stiles’, “You can see him?”

Stiles looked affronted, “Of course I can. He’s right there.”  
  
Allison was half Stiles had taken off right into psychosis with him. But Teddy had lowered the gun. That was what had been important. But the last thing Allison needed was two psychotic breaks. Especially one with as much training as Stiles.

“The voices,” he continued, “they helped you. Then, when you got older, they became...a responsibility. To use that knowledge. Their ideas.”  
  
“String theory,” Bryar confirmed.

Stiles nodded, “And M Theory, encompassing all of those strings. Critics say that it’s impossible because the mathematical tools to prove that don’t even exist yet. But you know. You know it’s real. Because your mind is that tool. Those voices are your tool.”  
  
Ted seemed to be hanging on to every word Stiles spoke. And Allison was too, almost... _believing_ that what he was saying was true. And maybe...maybe it was.

“Shut up!” Teddy snapped suddenly.

“Dr. Bryar. Those voices are your tool, but your mind is one, too. And I think you know, that you’re the only one who can make Leo stop.”

He seemed to consider it and Allison didn’t wait for another in. She kicked the man’s legs out from underneath him, pushing him into the opposite seat. Stiles was on him in a second, wrestling the gun from his hands. They were moments away from freedom. Seconds away from free. When a shot went off. She felt her blood run cold and her mouth drop open. Who was shot? Where? What was-- Her eyes only widened further as she watched Stiles and Ted slump into the seats. She shook her head in disbelief as the train door swung open and Scott and Derek rushed in.

“I had to,” Anderson sobbed, “he was going to kill us. I _had_ to.”

Allison let out a sigh of relief as Stiles stood up and wiped his face, missing most of the spattered blood. She slumped against the seat in exhaustion. She’d have to call ahead and cancel that interview.

 

* * *

 

 

Once everyone was off the train, the hostages were all shipped to the local hospital, where Erica and Isaac would be sent to get their statements and check in with them and their families. Stiles and Allison sat on the edge of the ambulance bed. The paramedics had already patched her up and cleaned the wound. She’d have to go in for stitches. A trip she was avoiding at all costs. She wasn't a fan of hospitals, not after her mother died. Beside her, Derek was fussing over Stiles, trying to clean off the rest of the Ted’s blood while the other squirmed away. Derek let out a warning growl that made Stiles slump in his spot and let the other man finish his task, one hand placed at the back of his neck, the other holding the wet washcloth. Her attention was pulled by Scott stepping in front of her. He reached out and tilted her face to the side to inspect the taped up gash, “You alright?”

She smiled, “I’m fine. Stiles saved us all.”  
  
“Damn straight I did,” he laughed.

Derek and Scott exchanged glances but said nothing.

“Hale, McCall” Jackson waved Scott and Derek over.

Scott immediately took off, but Derek looked between him and Stiles before Stiles quite literally shoved him away with his foot.

“Go, loser.”

After a second Allison looked over at the man.

“Hey, thanks.”  
  
He grinned, “No problem.”

“I just...what you said. About knowing what it’s like? If you--”

He cut her off, “The guy was a delusional psychotic. I was just...playing into the fantasy.”

She had half expected it to go the way it did. She nodded.

“I’ll see you at the hospital.”

She didn’t answer, just watched from where she was as Stiles made his way over to his team. He made a kissy face at Erica who fondly swatted at him and eventually stopped next to Derek who was exchanging what she suspected were parting words with Moretti. The man just reached out and gave Stiles’ shoulder a tight squeeze without breaking stride. Isaac soon appeared next to her.

“You alright?”

She looked up at him in surprise, “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“You know, he mused, leaning back next to her, his long lanky legs outstretched in front, “You can go over there. They’re your team, too.”

Off guard, Allison balked, “No, I know. I just...”

Isaac gave her a quick smile, “Nice work today Argent.”

Without letting her answer, he too, strode over to his team...their team. She took a second before following. She was rewarded with a knowing look from Isaac and a smile from Scott. And...yeah, maybe everything was still new. But she for sure as hell could get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There is a psychotic character in this chapter. He is referred to as another character as "psycho" with a lot of negative connotation. I, personally find the phrased used in this context as somewhat insulting as well as incorrect. I just wanted to put it out there for anyone else who may take offense or if it may trigger any hard feelings in anyone. And I'll just throw in a reminder, if any one of you is feeling super down or super upset, if you feel like at any moment you could become a danger to yourself or others, please talk to someone. Therapy is great and I really encourage it! It's just as important to take care of your mind as it is your body. Seeking professional help is something so brave and admirable. And remember, those people aren't there to judge you, they're there to help!
> 
> So, what did you guys think? If you have any episodes you want written and twisted by me you can just drop a request in my Tumblr ask box midnightcas.tumblr.com (also if anyone knows how to put links in these boxes, please share!) because I think I'd like to write some more of these and see where I end up.
> 
> I hope to see you all in the comments.  
> Thanks so much for reading!


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